


Wishing You a MCRT Christmas

by Ytteb



Category: NCIS
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony visits team members over Christmas.</p><p>This was originally written when I had only seen up to the end of Season 11.  Probably not very seasonal but an optimistic view of the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Bishop, I'm fine!" said Tim McGee.

"But …" Bishop tried again, "I could …"

"Bishop," said Tim as kindly and patiently as he could, "I'm fine. Go!"

Ellie Bishop stood irresolutely in front of the door to McGee's apartment as she tried to decide what to do. The MCRT had had two weeks of exhausting and draining cases which, miraculously, had all just been wound up on the afternoon of Christmas Eve meaning that Gibbs' team could actually go on their Christmas break. Bishop and Tony had been wearily delighted, Gibbs had done his usual impersonation of the Sphinx and Tim? Well, Tim had been glum.

Ellie had known Tim to be angry, upset, exhilarated, triumphant or any one of a multitude of emotions but this lethargic glumness was outside her experience and troubled her. She had gone to McGee's apartment with the intention of finding out what was bothering him but he had frozen her out and hadn't even let her through the door.

Bishop opened her mouth to try again but McGee forestalled her,

"Merry Christmas, Bishop," he said and then closed the door on her.

"Oh," said Ellie. She stared at the door for a moment or two and then reluctantly turned away.

"Oh," she said again, this time in response to seeing Tony DiNozzo limping towards her.

"Bishop," smiled Tony, "are you here doing good deeds? Trying to bring the Christmas spirit to McScrooge?"

"Trying to," admitted Ellie, "he wouldn't let me in."

"This will take an expert and experienced hand," said Tony, "you'll have to go up a couple of levels before you're ready for this. But, you're a good Probie for trying."

He walked towards the door and staggered slightly. Ellie grabbed hold of his elbow to steady him,

"Your knee still playing up?" she asked.

"Perils of playing top level basketball," said Tony boastfully, "but no worries, I got some painkillers from the pharmacy."

Ellie might not have experienced a glum McGee before but she knew what a drugged up DiNozzo was like.

"Painkillers?" she said, "Wow, look at the time. Jake'll be waiting for me. Gotta go."

"Bishop?" said Tony.

"Merry Christmas, Tony," she said, standing on tiptoe to give him a hug, "have a good one! See you in the New Year!"

"Oh. Merry Christmas to you, Probish. And seasonal felicitations to your other half," said Tony to her retreating form.

Tony watched her go and then knocked loudly on McGee's door.

"Let me in, McGrumpy!"

As Tony stared at the door he noticed a movement behind the door viewer,

"You know I won't go away, McYoucantpretendyourenotin," he said.

The sound of an exasperated sigh came through the door. Tony squared his shoulders: this was going to be a tough one. The door flew open to reveal an unamused McGee.

"Go away, DiNozzo."

"That's not very welcoming," scolded Tony, "on Christmas Eve as well. Where's your Christmas spirit?"

"Not in the mood," snapped McGee.

"That's OK," said Tony, apparently ignoring this, "I've got enough for two. In fact, more than enough for two," and he barrelled his way past Tim. He paused when he got into the apartment,

"Whoa," he said, "You're really not in the mood, are you? This place would depress Ebenezer Whatshisname. You haven't even put your Christmas cards up. And I know you got at least one 'cos Abby showed it me."

"OK," said Tim, "you've given me your invaluable opinion of my apartment. Now go!"

"And your Christmas tree," said Tony, pointing to a forlorn collection of twigs in the corner, "it makes Charlie Brown's tree look like the National Christmas Tree!"

"I haven't had time!" said McGee crossly, "I guess your apartment looks like Martha Stewart dropped by but some of us have been working, you know!"

"Keep your Christmas sweater on, McQuerulous," said Tony, "we can sort this."

"I don't want it sorted," said McGee grumpily, "I like it fine as it is. Anyway, aren't you supposed to be at home? Resting that knee?"

Tony shook his head dismissively, "It's no trouble," he said kindly. "Now. Where do you keep your Christmas ornaments?"

"Tony," said McGee as patiently as he could, "I want you to go. Now! And what d'you think Boss will say if he finds out that you're not resting your leg?"

"No problemo," said Tony airily, "I got some painkillers from the pharmacy."

"Painkillers?" moaned Tim, "you've taken painkillers and you're walking around unsupervised?"

"Technically, I'm limping," mused Tony. "Now, where did you say those decorations were?"

"I didn't," said Tim.

"Ah," said Tony, "I see. It's a game. Find the Christmas festive things. See, I knew you were in the Christmas spirit really."

"No, Tony …" said McGee desperately but it was too late. Tony was making his way round the apartment trying to work out where Tim kept his Christmas ornaments. Tony came to a halt by Tim's bookshelves and looked up to where he could see a cardboard box on the top shelf.

"Found them," said Tony triumphantly. He began to look round for something to stand on and pulled a couple of squishy cushions off Tim's couch and made ready to stand on them.

"Stop!" said Tim, "you'll fall off and break your leg!"

Tony turned and gave Tim a hug, "Aww, I didn't know you cared," he said emotionally.

"I don't," said Tim bitterly, "but I'd never get rid of you if your leg was in plaster. Stay where you are. I'll get the decorations." He walked to his desk and retrieved a box from under it. "There you are," he said.

Tony seemed dissatisfied and continued to look up at the other box, "so what's in that box, McSecretive?" he asked.

"None of your business," said Tim.

"Ooh, a mystery!" said Tony, "I love a mystery. That's why I became a cop." He showed signs of wanting to continue his scaling of the shelves so Tim tried to think of a distraction.

"Have you had anything to eat, Tony?" He was thinking, and hoping, that food might somehow 'soak up' whatever drugs were making their demented way round Tony's susceptible body.

Tony inclined his head as he considered this, "Well, obviously I've had something to eat. Otherwise I'd be dead but …"

"But what?"

"But I can't remember when. Sometime today, I think. Possibly," Tony trailed off.

"Tony!" said Tim in exasperation, "you have to eat! Especially if you're taking painkillers."

"See, that's what I like about you, McGenius," said Tony admiringly, "you always know something about everything."

"You need to eat, Tony," said Tim very slowly and clearly.

"Thank you, Tim. Pizza would be good," said Tony gratefully.

Tim sighed. He just wanted to be on his own with his depression but his conscience wouldn't allow him to let a drugged-up DiNozzo loose in DC.

"OK," he said unwillingly.

"And garlic bread," said Tony as Tim got his cell out.

"And sodas. Ooh, and some ice-cream … and some chocolate sauce."

Tim huffed, "not exactly Christmas food, is it?"

"Thought you weren't in the Christmas mood," said Tony a little more sharply than Tim would have expected.

"I'm not!"

"Why not?" asked Tony.

"What?"

"It seems to me you're the sort of guy who  _is_  Christmassy," said Tony.

"Well, you're wrong. OK?" said Tim crossly. "I'm going to order the food. And … and … I'm getting Christmas sauce for the ice-cream," he added defiantly.

"What's Christmas sauce?"

"Red berry sauce. My grandma used to give it to us on Christmas Eve."

"Penny?" asked Tony in some surprise.

This got a laugh out of Tim. "No, my Mom's mom. She said it was what Santa had before going out to deliver the presents on Christmas night. If we stayed with her over Christmas we put out a saucer of it before we went to bed."

"That's cute, McGee," said Tony. He leant back on the couch and closed his eyes for a moment.

Tim took the opportunity to go and phone for the food. In a moment of weakness he ordered both chocolate and red berry sauce. He regretted his kindness when he returned to his sitting area and discovered that Tony had emptied all the Christmas ornaments over the floor and was staring at them with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Tony!" yelled Tim.

"Yes?" said Tony looking up innocently.

"You've taken all the decorations out."

"You're welcome," said Tony smugly.

"Well, you can put them all back. I'm not decorating."

"Why not? You have before," said Tony.

"Only because Sarah likes it," blustered Tim, "I don't care for them myself."

"They're good decorations," said Tony as he fingered a plush Santa figure which had seen better days.

"I guess," said Tim.

"We used to have new decorations every year," said Tony.

"Of course you did," sighed Tim, "always got to go one better, haven't you?"

"Oh," said Tony, "No. It wasn't a good thing. Senior wasn't big on tradition. It all had to be fashionable, up to the minute. And I wasn't allowed to help decorate the tree."

"Poor little rich boy," said Tim.

Tony kept his eyes on a tinsel garland he was untangling, "but the butler …"

"Butler?" exclaimed Tim.

"So we had a butler? Not my fault," said Tony. "Anyway, the butler let me help decorate the tree in the servants' quarters. And I had this Italian snow globe that my Nonna gave me. I kept it in my bedroom. When I was feeling sad I used to shake it up and then watch the snow come down and settle. I used to wish that things in the real world would calm down that easily."

"Here," said Tim, "give me that tinsel. You're making it worse."

Tony meekly passed the garland to Tim who quickly untangled it and then absentmindedly draped it along a shelf. Tony gave him another strand and Tim wrapped it round his computer screen. Tony continued to extract the tinsel and, after looking at each piece, passed it to Tim who then put it in what was clearly its customary place. They continued in silence until interrupted by a knock at the door.

Tim opened the door to the pizza delivery man who looked a bit disapproving of people eating fast food on Christmas Eve. Tim went back into the apartment and found that Tony had taken the opportunity to drag the sad Christmas tree in the centre of the room.

"Tony!" yelled Tim, "what are you doing? I told you, I'm not going to decorate the tree. And anyway, it's too late. Look at it!"

"McGivingupbeforei'vestarted," said Tony disapprovingly, "remember Charlie Brown's tree!"

"No," said McGee flatly, "I never watched Charlie Brown."

"McDeprived," gasped Tony, "you missed out on a kindred spirit."

"Why?" asked McGee suspiciously.

"Things always go wrong for Charlie Brown," said Tony earnestly, "he reaches for the stars but they always move out of reach; his friends are unkind to him; his dog is more intelligent than him; his plans never …"

"Stop!" said McGee, "I get the picture. Thanks, Tony. That makes me feel a  _lot_  better."

"You're welcome," said Tony with a sleepy smile.

Tim suddenly realised that if he let Tony fall asleep he would never get rid of him so he asked loudly,

"So what about the tree?"

Tony's eyes flew open,

"You mean we can decorate after all?"

"No. No. No, I meant. Tell me about Charlie Brown's Christmas tree."

"Oh, Ok. Well, I don't remember it all but Charlie Brown wanted a great Christmas tree but ended up with this wimpy weak one. And everyone laughed at it and he finished up giving up on it."

"Wow," said Tim sarcastically, "that's a great story, Tony. Real heart-warming. Good moral to it."

"Wait," said Tony, "you haven't heard the end."

"OK, surprise me," said Tim wearily.

"His friends came to the rescue. They decorated the tree."

"Thought you said his friends were mean to him," said Tim.

"They were," agreed Tony, "because they weren't perfect. They got things wrong sometimes. But, when it was important, they stepped up to the mark. It's what friends do, Tim."

"And the tree?"

"Stepped up to the mark as well. It was a great tree."

"It's just a story, Tony," said Tim, picking up the plush Santa.

"What is it?" said Tony, "life imitating art or art imitating life? Which comes first?"

"What you doing here, Tony?" asked Tim.

"Eating pizza, I hope," said Tony. "Come to think of it. What  _am_  I doing here?"

"Don't ask me," said Tim, "I didn't invite you."

"Don't feel bad about it," said Tony.

"Bad about what?"

"Not inviting me. I'm not hurt. Much."

"Go home, Tony," said McGee wearily.

"But we haven't finished the tree yet. Or had your Christmas sauce."

"We're not decorating the tree. And I don't want Christmas sauce." Tim flung the plush toy on to the floor and stamped out of the room to go to the bathroom. There he stared at himself in the mirror, wondering what was happening to him. Tony was right, he did usually enjoy Christmas but this year was different. He splashed cold water over his eyes and then went back to the task of dislodging the intruder from his living room.

"Tony! You're doing it wrong!" he said crossly when he got back and found that Tony had unearthed the Christmas lights and was in the middle of draping them round the tree.

"What?" said Tony vaguely, "what do you mean?"

"You've got to do it evenly," said Tim, "you're bunching them up."

"Hey," said Tony happily, "that's a new one."

"What?"

"Don't get your Christmas lights in a bunch. Nice one McInvention."

"Don't you know anything?" asked McGee, "Decorating Christmas trees is all about symmetry."

"Like I said," said Tony sadly, "I don't know much about tree  _adornment_."

"Yeah," said Tim, "it must have been really hard. Having to watch your tree being decorated with the latest, most expensive type of decoration. And expensive presents under the tree too, I expect."

"Yes," agreed Tony, "best  _money_  could buy."

"What does that mean?" asked Tim, absentmindedly rearranging the lights to his taste.

"Money doesn't buy the best Christmas, Tim."

"Is that from the wisdom of Charlie Brown too?" asked Tim suspiciously.

"Hey. Don't knock the Charlie Brown," said Tony defensively, "he knew what he was talking about. Well, no, he didn't. Well, he did in the end but he usually took the long way round to getting there."

"That makes it clear," said Tim.

Tony passed him a Christmas snowflake which Tim hung on a branch.

"Just saying, Tim. In my experience money doesn't make a Christmas. I'm not saying it doesn't help but it's not the most important thing."

"Oh, so it's the  _DiNozzo_  wisdom I'm getting," said McGee, "not the Charlie Brown version."

"Let's just say that Christmas in the DiNozzo family wasn't the same once my mom wasn't around," said Tony. He handed Tim a silver bell. He peered at the heap of decorations. "You've got a Christmas Luke Skywalker?" he said incredulously as he saw another figurine.

"I was a Star Wars fan," said Tim defensively. He snatched the figure from Tony and hung it high on the tree.

"You know," said Tony pensively, "for someone who's decided they don't like Christmas you seem to have a lot of decorations. And what do you mean, you  _were_  a Star Wars fan? Don't turn your back on the Force, man."

"What are you doing here, Tony?" asked Tim.

"You asked me that before," said Tony. "I think."

"And you didn't answer me," said Tim.

"I'm chewing the fat with a buddy," said Tony.

"Yeah, we don't really do that, do we?" said Tim, "so again, what are you doing here?"

"We're talking about Charlie Brown," said Tony vaguely, "are you sure you never saw it? 'Cos it's so you."

"I'm sure," said Tim, "so …"

"Hey. Where's the ice cream with Christmas sauce?" interrupted Tony.

"What?"

"It's a McGee tradition," said Tony, "I want to experience it."

"Not a McGee tradition," said Tim.

"But you said …"

"My  _Mom_ 's mom. Not McGee. Cooper."

"Whatever. Bring it on."

Tim acquiesced wearily and gave Tony a bowl of ice cream and red berry sauce.

"You not having any?" Tony asked.

Tim sighed and served himself a bowl as well. Somehow he thought obeying Tony was the quickest option. He reflected that was the pattern of his life with Tony.

"You always get your way, don't you?" he said bitterly.

"No," said Tony simply, "not that I've noticed." He took a spoonful of ice cream and sauce, "hey, this is good. Grandma Cooper was right."

"She loved Christmas," said Tim reminiscently.

"But you don't?" said Tony, concentrating on spooning the last morsel of sauce from his dish.

"I like those dishes," said McGee mildly, "no need to scrape the pattern off."

Tony grinned but wasn't diverted, "but you don't? Like Christmas, I mean?"

"What's there to like?" asked McGee, "it's just make believe."

"What do you mean?" asked Tony going back to handing decorations to Tim.

"All this pretending to be happy. Eating too much. Spending money we haven't got. Being with people we don't want to be with. Not being with the people we want to be with."

Tony didn't say anything but passed a wooden reindeer to Tim.

"And these last weeks. All the horrible people doing horrible things to one another. And we just play catch up all the time. What's the point?"

Tony didn't say anything immediately but handed Tim the star. Tim put it on the top of the tree. Tony pointed to the tree, "Don't know, Tim. But the tree looks pretty good, doesn't it?"

Tim looked at it. It wasn't the best tree he'd ever had but it certainly looked better than it had when Tony had arrived.

"Sometimes it's about rescuing things, Tim. It's not perfect. But it's better than nothing."

Tim managed a wry smile. "Thanks, Tony." He stood up, a clear indication that he thought Tony's visit should be over.

"So," said Tony, not taking the hint, "not being with the people we want to be with? That on your mind, McLonesome?"

"I miss Delilah," admitted Tim, "I sort of hoped she might be going to surprise me. Guess I was hoping … what was it you said, life would imitate art?" He shrugged philosophically and moved towards the door in a suggestive way.

"Red berry sauce," said Tony.

"Yeah. I know. You're a fan. I'll get you a jar," said Tim impatiently.

"You had it when you went to your grandmother's at Christmas?"

"I know, it's a boring tradition. Not like your amazing DiNozzo ones. I apologize for being ordinary."

"I always envied you being ordinary," said Tony.

"Gee, thanks," said Tim.

"I mean.  _You're_  not ordinary. You're one of the most extraordinary people I've ever met. Intelligent, sharp, knowledgeable. You know, apart from movies … and Charlie Brown … you've always have an opinion on everything. No, I used to envy your normal family. Mom, Dad, baby sister … sounded idyllic. Your parents never warehoused you, they wanted you – loved you, cherished you."

"But …" said Tim.

"But it wasn't true, was it? You were pretending it had all been wonderful."

"Says the master of pretence," said McGee.

"This isn't about me," said Tony.

"Makes a change."

"I will ignore that," said Tony loftily, "and just say that I find it interesting that you have a red berry tradition."

"DiNozzo," said McGee wearily, "it's late. Go home. Sleep off whatever it is you've taken that's made you loopy. I'm fine. The apartment is decorated. The tree has been Charlie Browned. I'm in the Christmas spirit. Go!"

"Wow," said Tony, "I don't want any Christmas spirit if that's what it's like."

"Tony …"

"How's your Dad?"

"What?"

"I know what it's like to have a … difficult … relationship with a parent. But I don't know how I'd feel if Senior was dying."

"I'm fine, Tony. Go home. It was nice of you to come round but I'm fine."

"And I'm wondering which the Christmases were that you spent with people you'd prefer not to."

"You mean apart from this one? Right now?"

"Yes. I'm guessing the red berry ones were OK? Otherwise you wouldn't keep it as a tradition."

"Putting those detective skills to good use, are you?"

"Don't know. Am I, Tim?"

"My life isn't a movie, Tony. Despite what you think. And my Dad and I are talking now."

"Not easy seeing what you've missed out on though, is it?"

"This about you again, Tony?"

"No. No, it's not. You liked the Christmases you spent with your grandmother. Putting out red berry sauce for Santa?"

"Yes."

"Why did you spend Christmases with your grandma?"

"It's what families do. As you'd know if you had one."

"Ouch, Timmy, that's not nice," Tony blinked a couple of times, yawned and tapped the silver bell on the tree. "It doesn't work," he said in a tone of disappointment.

Tim looked at Tony's unfocussed eyes and realised that Tony would probably not remember any of this conversation in the morning.

"We went to Gran's when my father was posted away," said Tim, keeping his eyes on the tree. "And they were happy Christmases because he wasn't there. He wasn't there criticizing me, judging me or undermining me."

"It's good to have happy memories," offered Tony sleepily.

"But I always felt guilty," said Tim, "for being happy that he wasn't there. Knowing that wasn't right. And now, when I know he's not going to be around much longer, I feel even more guilty. Thinking I should have done more, made an effort. Been the son he wanted. Not be a disappointment to him."

"You're a son most fathers would be proud of, Tim."

"Just not mine," said Tim sadly.

"It's not perfect, Tim. But …"

"Please. No more DiNozzo wisdom."

"Wasn't going to give you any. But don't give up on Christmas. Remember Charlie Brown."

"And his friends?" suggested Tim.

Tony shrugged, "we fixed the tree, didn't we? You've got time, Tim. Perhaps there's time to fix things with your Dad too."

Tony reached out and flicked the switch for the tree lights. "Your lights don't work." He stood up and stretched, "time to go," he announced, "No, don't try and stop me."

"You want me to drive you home?" asked Tim, still anxious about Tony's painkillers.

"No. I'll be fine. I'll call a cab."

"Thanks, Tony," said McGee with sudden sincerity.

"No problem. But you should get a better tree next time."

"Merry Christmas, Tony," said Tim showing him to the door.

Tony gave a gracious wave in acknowledgement and left. Tim went back inside and sat down next to the tree. He remembered that one bulb always came loose so he reached forward and screwed it back in. The lights came on. "Fixed," said Tim with satisfaction. The tree wasn't perfect but it had its own beauty.

NCISNCIS

Outside Tim's apartment block, Tony stopped to draw out his cell. He tapped out a text message,

"Delilah. Tim in Christmas spirit. Waiting for you. Tony. And Wheels, don't diss the tree."

Tony nodded with satisfaction and put his cell back in his coat pocket. As he did so his fingers brushed against the unopened box of painkillers.

"Oops," he said, "I forgot to take any painkillers."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony made his way back to his apartment, intending to take his painkillers and then sit down with a heat pad on his knee. He winced when he opened his door and saw his own forlorn Christmas tree propped up in the window. Despite McGee's assertion his place had not undergone a Martha Stewart type transformation but was looking rather bleak and uninviting.

He sighed and made his way into the kitchen where he saw a parcel standing on his island. Very few people had a key to his apartment: Gibbs, Lisa (the little girl who sometimes looked after the goldfish) and Gloria Gordon. The package was tied up with a ribbon and bow which, he felt, ruled out Gibbs who was more apt to put things in crumpled brown paper bags. Lisa could prise the top off the goldfish food tub but struggled to tie the laces on her shoes so this professional looking bow was unlikely to be her handiwork. That left Gloria Gordon and Tony felt a sense of anticipation about what his treasure of a neighbour might have left for him.

Tony carefully peeled the bow off and looked inside. A genuine smile swept across his face and a warm feeling swept over him. He limped into his bedroom, changed into jeans and the green and red top he called his Christmas sweater, grabbed Gloria's parcel and another package and hurried out.

As Tony drove towards his destination, he began to have doubts. His ill-defined Christmas tradition was to turn up unannounced at Gibbs' place sometime on Christmas Day and receive a welcome which hovered, beyond categorization, somewhere between complete lack of surprise and total surprise. A visit on Christmas Eve was something different but Gloria's package gave him courage.

NCISNCIS

"You've got a tree," were Tony's first words as he walked through Gibbs' front door.

"I knew Tom Morrow was wrong," replied Gibbs.

Tony was taken by surprise, "What?"

"When I hired you, he wasn't sure you had the right skill set."

"Boss?"

"But look, thirteen years later and you're showing great observational skills," said Gibbs.

"Funny," said Tony, "but, Boss. You've got a tree!"

This was undeniable. It was undecorated and bare but no wooden object in Gibbs' house would ever look uncared for so it looked a world away from Tony and Tim's poor specimens. Charlie Brown would have been envious. The Christmas spirit may have been lacking chez McGee but it may have been present at Casa Gibbs as Gibbs decided not to tease Tony any further.

"Kids next door wanted to decorate a tree," he said simply, "their Mom is allergic to the needles so can't have one in the house. I said they could do mine."

"That's sweet, Boss," said Tony, "but … uh … they don't seem to have done a good job. Unless they're imaginary decorations?"

"They decided to go to their grandmother's place for Christmas instead," said Gibbs, "didn't have time to decorate before they went."

"Wonder if they'll have Christmas sauce?" mused Tony to himself.

"What?" asked Gibbs.

"Oh," said Tony, "forgot. You weren't there. Apparently the McGoo has a Christmas tradition of putting red berry sauce out for Santa. Well, he probably _had_ a tradition of putting out red berry sauce. I can't picture him doing it now … although he is the McGee. Who knows what that brain will get up to?" Tony ground to a halt under Gibbs' unwavering gaze. "It's not important," he said.

"Did you sort Tim out?" asked Gibbs.

Tony looked around nervously, "Boss? How did you know about that?"

"Bishop," said Gibbs.

"Ah," said Tony, relieved that there appeared to be limits to Gibbs' omniscience.

"She came by on her way out of town. Said she was anxious about Tim and then she was anxious about you and your knee."

"She has been a busy little Probie," hasn't she?" said Tony approvingly.

"She's got your six," agreed Gibbs.

"Sixes," said Tony, "she's got all our sixes. That doesn't sound right. Sixes, sixes, six?"

"DiNozzo!" barked Gibbs.

"Sixes and sevens," muttered Tony to himself, "no, that's something different." He became aware that Gibbs was silent, "sorry, Boss," he said, "… um, what was I saying?"

"Lord knows," said Gibbs, "Tim."

"Tim isn't here, Boss," offered Tony. "Oh. I see. You want to know about Tim."

Gibbs sighed and Tony took that as affirmation.

"Right. So I got a call from DOD Delilah this afternoon. She'd phoned Tim and … well … you know what sort of mood he's been in. Perhaps you don't, you weren't in the squad room much. Well, anyway, our little Timmy hasn't been exactly the proverbial ray of sunshine, the tinsel on the Christmas tree, the wand in the fairy's …"

"DiNozzo!"

"OK. You want the CliffsNotes version not the three reeler," said Tony. "So, DOD Delilah called Tim. She'd flown back here to surprise our McRomeo for the festive holidays but when she phoned him she found that he was McGrumpy instead of McPassionate. She began to doubt whether a seasonal surprise visit would be welcome. She phoned yours truly and Dr DiNozzo went round to administer a dose of Christmas cheer."

"Did it work?" asked Gibbs.

Tony looked offended, "of course it worked. We decorated his Charlie Brown tree. Ate Christmas sauce. Chewed the fat. I dispensed DiNozzo wisdom and Tiny Tim is firing on all Christmas cylinders once more."

Gibbs stared at Tony but seemed to decide just to accept that Tim was OK and not waste time by delving into the story behind Tony's sojourn with Tim. He turned to other matters.

"Bishop said you had painkillers."

"Yes," said Tony, proudly producing the box.

"Taken any?"

"Not yet. I got sort of distracted. Needed a clear head for dealing with the McGee woes."

"What you doing here, DiNozzo? You should be at home resting that knee."

"And I was going to be," Tony assured him, "but something came up." He didn't suggest that it was his cheerless apartment which had driven him out. "Gloria left me a package."

Gibbs looked interested. Gloria Gordon was Tony's eccentric neighbour of whom much was forgiven as she was an excellent baker who often shared her creations with Tony.

"She make you a Christmas cake?" he asked.

"Nope," said Tony.

"Snickerdoodles?" asked Gibbs.

" _Snickerdoodles_?" said Tony scornfully, "she's way above _Snickerdoodles._ The woman is a master, or is it mistress, of the mixing bowl."

"What is it then?" asked Gibbs.

For answer Tony lifted the lid on the box and held it out to Gibbs. He peered in,

"What is it?" said Gibbs.

"I'm not entirely sure," admitted Tony, "but it's cake and it looks good. I thought you might like a piece."

"Sit down," ordered Gibbs, "put your leg up on the couch. I'll get a knife and some plates."

Tony yawned as he obeyed, thinking it was a tribute to Gloria's cake that Gibbs hadn't just used the knife in his pocket. Even Gibbs recognised that some sort of ceremony had to attach to the masterpiece being eaten.

Gibbs had just moved the cake onto a large dinner plate and was preparing to slice it when another visitor arrived.

"Good evening, gentlemen," said Ducky, "and a Happy Christmas Eve to both of you! Good heavens! Is that a Tunis cake?"

"Don't know, Duck," said Gibbs, "what's a Tunis cake?"

"If I'm not mistaken," said Ducky, " _that's_ a Tunis cake. Good Lord, I haven't seen one for years. Where did it come from?"

"Gloria," said Tony simply.

"Ah," said Ducky reverently, "that woman is a marvel."

"And what is a Tunis cake?" asked Tony.

Ducky leaned over the cake and sniffed happily, "it is a Madeira sponge, covered with thick chocolate and decorated with marzipan fruits. I believe it originated in Scotland."

Gibbs and Tony exchanged a smile. Ducky thought most good things originated in Scotland.

"Before Mother joined me in this country, she used to send me one each Christmas," reminisced Ducky, "but sadly, it is less available now and I haven't had one for years. It brings back such happy memories for me. But I suppose I am fortunate in having many happy memories of Christmas. I would also suppose that, like Eleanor, I find memories triggered by certain foods. I think it is something that I should do some research into. I wonder if it is something which could be usefully employed in the field of …"

"Duck," said Gibbs, "do you want a piece of this cake or not?"

"Bless my soul," said Ducky, "I fear the sight of this wondrous cake has caused me go off on one of my divagations. I do apologise but it is rather exciting."

"Why don't you do the honours?" suggested Gibbs offering him the knife.

"Well," said Ducky, "it would indeed be an honour but perhaps the privilege should fall to Anthony?" Ducky turned to Tony, "Oh," he said, "he seems to have dozed off."

Indeed, sitting on Gibbs' comfortable couch and listening to Ducky's gentle 'divagation' had sent Tony to sleep.

"Don't worry about it, Duck," said Gibbs, "it's been a busy couple of weeks. I don't think he's slept much the last few nights 'cos of his knee."

"Yes," said Ducky, "I prevailed on him to allow me to examine it this morning. I do not believe it is anything sinister but just a recurrence of an old trouble from when he injured it when playing Varsity basketball. Although at some point he may need an operation to 'clean' it up. I think two or three days of rest, and judicious use of painkillers, will sort the problem out for the moment."

"He looks out for the count," observed Gibbs.

"I would not suggest waking him up," said Ducky, "so long as you do not mind having an overnight guest."

Gibbs shrugged, "Better wait on cutting this cake," he observed.

"Indeed," said Ducky reluctantly, "it would not be fair to start eating it while Anthony is otherwise 'occupied'."

"What you doing here anyway, Duck?" asked Gibbs. "Didn't expect to see you until tomorrow."

"Ah well," said Ducky, "I wanted to confirm that your invitation was still in place."

"Would have told you if it wasn't," said Gibbs.

"Forgive me, Jethro," said Ducky, "I know you and Anthony operate on a more _intuitive_ level."

"Duck?"

"Surely you realise?" said Ducky. "Over the years I have noticed that you and Anthony never make plans to see one another on Christmas Day but whenever I have dropped in he has been here. And you always have sufficient food to serve him and that food always seems to be the kind that he most enjoys."

"What you saying, Duck?"

"Just that, without apparently any planning or organisation, you both expect to spend a good portion of Christmas Day together. And, I would surmise, would be disappointed if it didn't happen."

"Oh," said Gibbs. "Oh. Doesn't explain what you're doing here, Duck."

"As I was trying to explain, I prefer to have more concrete arrangements in place so, as I was passing, I thought I would confirm that our plans for tomorrow still stand."

"Yes," said Gibbs, "they still stand. Looks as if we'll have DiNozzo here too."

"In that case, I will see you tomorrow," said Ducky taking a last regretful look at the unsliced cake.

"Night, Duck," said Gibbs deciding not to point out that, despite his professed distaste for ad hoc arrangements, Ducky made a ‘casual’ visit on Christmas Eve every year they were not working.

Gibbs followed Ducky out and retrieved Tony's go bag from his car. He returned to the living room, threw an afghan over Tony's sleeping form and then removed the cake to the kitchen. He banked the fire and then sat down in an armchair to sleep the rest of Christmas Eve away.

NCISNCIS

Gibbs awoke the next morning to a sound of rustling. For a moment he wondered why he was sleeping in a chair rather than on his couch or under the boat and then he remembered his visitor. He looked round and saw Tony putting some lights on his Christmas tree.

"Merry Christmas, Boss," he said when he saw Gibbs was awake, "don't worry. I got instructions from McGenius on how to put lights on. The trick is not to bunch them. Symmetry is the key."

Gibbs shrugged and moved into the kitchen to make coffee. Tony waited until Gibbs had taken a mouthful and then asked,

"These your decorations, Boss? They don't look new but I've never seen a tree in your house before."

"Brought them back from Stillwater when I cleared Dad's house," said Gibbs.

"Oh," said Tony, "I'm sorry, Boss. I wouldn't have opened the box if I'd known."

"Yes, you would," said Gibbs.

"Yeah, you're right," admitted Tony, "but I wouldn't have started hanging them."

"It's not a problem," said Gibbs mildly, "that's what they're for. Shouldn't waste them."

"It's a rule," Tony reminded him. "Hey, Boss, I'm sorry for crashing here last night. I'll be out of your hair soon."

"Stay," said Gibbs.

"Boss?"

"According to Ducky we always plan to spend the day together but we just don't admit it."

"We do?" said Tony sceptically before saying thoughtfully, "yeah, I guess we do. Why do we do that? I mean, not admit it?"

"Must be a Gibbs thing," said Gibbs.

"And a DiNozzo thing," said Tony, "after all I never really talk to Senior. And I know that drives you mad. Although it's like the pot calling the kettle black."

"Taken any painkillers yet?" asked Gibbs.

"No. It doesn't hurt this morning. A good night's sleep helped."

"I'll get breakfast," said Gibbs, "no. Stay where you are. You're making a good job of the tree."

So Tony inexpertly dressed the tree while Gibbs expertly cooked them breakfast which they then ate in front of the now roaring fire. When they had finished eating Gibbs brought out some mulled cider and as they drank he spotted a present under the tree.

"What's that?" he said.

"Something I picked up for you," said Tony casually, "just saw it in a flea market. Thought you might like it."

Gibbs stared at Tony as he realised that this was something else they did. Picking out Christmas gifts for one another but pretending that it was all accidental.

"Appreciate it," said Gibbs.

He opened the parcel to find a cardboard box full of wooden discs. He picked one out and turned it over in his hands.

"Guy on the stall thought it was probably from some sort of timber shop," said Tony, "or a cabinet maker's. Customers could pick out what wood they wanted. They've got the names of the wood written on the back."

"Lignum vitae," said Gibbs, reading one of the labels, "You know, that's the wood that sinks. Heaviest wood around. Incredibly hard and tough."

"Sounds about right," said Tony.

"Used on boats," continued Gibbs, "means wood of life." He continued looking at the discs, "Boxelder Maple, Meranti, African Blackwood, Pin Oak, Scarlet Oak, Caranda, Andaman Padauk … this is great, Tony. I'll make a box to keep them in …"

"Plenty of wood to choose from," pointed out Tony, happy that his choice had gone down well.

"Got something for you too," said Gibbs resisting the instinct to say that he'd found it by accident. He passed Tony a brown paper bag.

"It's heavy," commented Tony. He tapped the bag, "something solid."

"Like your head," said Gibbs, "why don't you just open it?"

"Anticipation is part of the fun," said Tony, "got to get maximum enjoyment out of the moment."

Gibbs looked at him in sudden compassion, picturing a younger Tony trying to extract as much as he could from rare moments of family togetherness.

"Guess it shows you're an investigator," he said gruffly.

"A baseball?" theorised Tony, "an enormous candy?" He sniffed, "no, doesn't smell. So, not an orange either. Could be an apple … but it would still smell. Tomato? No, not squishy and anyway, would you give me a tomato for Christmas?"

"Believe me, I'm tempted," said Gibbs.

Something in Gibbs' tone convinced Tony that his patience was running thin and that even Christmas goodwill might not protect him. He opened the bag.

"Oh," he said.

"Seem to remember you said you had one when you were a kid," said Gibbs suddenly uncertain about the gift.

"Wow," said Tony, "I don't know what to say, Boss."

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee as he waited for Tony to decide what to say. There was something in the way Tony had said 'oh' that Gibbs didn't recognise but then he saw Tony smile.

"This is great," said Tony, as he gently shook the snow globe, "I can't believe you remembered. When I was feeling bad I used to shake it up and then watch it all settle down again – I think I always hoped that I'd leave my room and find everything had calmed down like in my snow globe."

"It's Italian," said Gibbs, "thought it might be like the one you had."

"Don't know what happened to the one I had as a kid," said Tony, "I have a feeling I wore it out." He shook the globe again and watched the snow settle. He didn't see Gibbs' frown at this additional evidence of Senior's shortcomings as a parent.

"Ducky'll be here soon," said Gibbs.

"I think I'll put this away," said Tony casually, "wouldn't want it to get broken."

Gibbs nodded as if it was perfectly reasonable to think that the unfailingly well-mannered doctor would somehow run amok and break the ornament.

"I'll put these wood things down in the basement," he said, "don't want them to get lost."

Tony gave the globe one final shake and then tucked it out of the way. Neither of them admitted that they didn't want the perceptive Ducky to know they had carefully chosen gifts for one another. They would let him think that the bottles of Bourbon and Chardonnay they had casually exchanged in the office were the only gifts.

"Merry Christmas, Boss," said Tony.

"Merry Christmas, Tony," said Gibbs slapping him on the shoulder as he made his way to the basement. "And you'd better keep an eye on that cake. Ducky looked pretty hungry when he saw it."

"On it, Boss," said Tony. He sighed contentedly as he looked round the room, at the lights on the Christmas tree and the fire in the grate. He wondered what excuses McGee and Abby were thinking up to explain their traditional 'unexpected' visits to Gibbs on Christmas Day but he guessed he wouldn't have long to wait to find out. Tony raised his glass of cider in a silent toast to the weirdness of an MCRT Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gloria Gordon has been a supplier of cakes in some of my previous stories.
> 
> And I'm beginning to think I should put my 'cake' stories all together!


End file.
